Silence in the Deep
by Fallen-Gabriel
Summary: As the Quanari invasion looms over the shores of Kirkwall like a darkening shadow, some will stand and others will fall as a boy must become a man, and discover his true identity. Will Hawke ride in to end the stale mate? Or is it up to the future to right the past?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 – Shattered Memories

Goliath stood slowly, the leaves rustling in his ears, and the sun just beginning to set upon the horizon. He let out a breath he'd been holding for perhaps too long, for he inhaled sharply upon drawing breath again. The sky almost looked like the ocean, tinted with colors of every kind as he trudged down the slope of the mountain.

Kirkwall was within sight.

He'd traveled seven days and six nights to reach it. Now, perhaps, after all the years he'd lived, he would receive answers. But that was at least still two days from now. And he could barely see the city through the parting mists. He longed to see the ocean.

But if Kirkwall was like anything he'd heard, then the water would be sludge, churning and black. Everything would smell of piss and wretchedness in the slums, starving people would claw for scraps, and he'd be left standing in the middle of it all. A bad taste formed in his mouth at the thought. No. Looking back had never been an option. And it was most certainly not one now.

His left arm was still rather sore from where he'd slept on it last night, against the stone slab that had served as his bed, deep in the cavern now miles behind him.

_This land... Is filthy._

Every day he found himself battling bandits, putrid animals, or starvation. Even with careful rationing his food had ran out the third day into his journey.

_I was careless._

He raised a hand to his head but stopped. Dwelling on the past was a lost cause. Goliath walked, or perhaps trudged from lack of food, to the obelisks still so far in the distance. He'd have to cross through another mountain pass. He wasn't sure if he could find food on his way. He only had two mouthfuls of roots left in the leather pouch on his thigh, and the sword on his back was in desperate need of a whetstone.

Of all the men he'd killed on his journey he'd collected at least twenty golden coins for when he reached Kirkwall to purchase some provisions. He knew he'd left behind at least a few dozen coins but as of right now survival was more important. Money was an obstacle.

_One I would gladly do without in favor of better terrain_.

The steep slopes were treacherous, but his steps were firm and guarded as he followed the winding path through the airy mountain.

His jerkin - made from deer hide, and with sheep lining - barely kept the cold at bay, held over his midsection and covering most of his back. Two belts strapped over his shoulders, crossing his chest to hold it in place. His sword, strapped to his back, would occasionally bump against him, reminding him of its sure presence. His stitched leggings were made of the same material, his boots held by strips of discarded cloth. His hands were wrapped in the same, calloused and slightly scarred upon the backs.

"Damn..." He rumbled aloud in a brassy baritone. The slope was too steep yet again, giving way to a complete drop.

_I will have to find shelter in a lower area, or I will freeze tonight._

He turned around, making his ascent to the jagged rocks below, in hopes of finding shelter from the freezing night. He froze when a rock somewhere above his head cracked and fell. He jerked, raising an arm in defense, but the rock ricochet off another to shatter far below. Goliath turned his head to the source, finding a bird perched above him... An eagle.

He was struck, his eyes widening on the proud creature perched not a foot from his head, and his breath caught. Its white feathers ruffled as it shook its head a little, gazing straight ahead. Feeling Goliath's gaze though, the majestic creature turned to return his stare. It felt odd. Here he was, stretched across the mountain face that reflected the coming of night, his feet planted on a bar of stone some feet below.

And his hand, closest to the eagle... If one were to see him they'd think he was in the sky, a mortal reaching for the impossible. Stricken, he could not help but reach for the creature. His clawed fingers reached into the warm brown feathers of the eagle's belly, feeling the beginnings of the strong legs the animal bore.

Suddenly, cold air seared across his face, drying out his eyes, but he couldn't close them. The eagle's powerful wings had spread, the feathers flattening in seconds against the strong form, and he dove off the cliff. The hand he'd used to touch the creature fell as his right leg also disengaged from the wall, his form half falling as he watched the graceful descend of the bird.

Its wings caught the wind and up the eagle soared, into the coming darkness, and Goliath watched, his black hair flowing around his shoulders in the breeze.

He smirked, returning to his task, taking the appearance of the eagle as a good omen...

A~H

By early night fall he had reached the lower cliffs of the mountain, and was making his ascent to the base. He'd thought to stop, but then his mind was wrought with images of fire, a terrible roar that cracked the earth, and he was left paralyzed for long moments. He devoured the last of his provisions, and moved on.

_If I move through the night, I should reach Kirkwall by afternoon tomorrow. But I must not tire myself. _Goliath pulled himself onto a small ridge, still guarded as he looked over the edge…This drop lasted till the base of the mountain. He stood on top of the cliff side, looking out to Kirkwall below him, the burning torches coming through the gloom to greet him. The moon, stars, and ocean reflected upon the pestilent, diseased metropolis.

But right now… In the dark with the lights, the water – no matter how murky and disgusting it was – it looked, oddly beautiful. Goliath smirked, crossing his arms, and his eyes drifted to…

One part of the city was darkened, close to the water, and his eyes narrowed upon it. Unlike the rest of the city, even the lowliest taverns, this area was completely untouched by outside light. As if the wind had come in and blown away anything in existence, leaving a gaping hole at the foot of the city. No soul lingered within the area, as if this part of Kirkwall didn't exist.

_Wasteful._

Goliath grabbed onto the cliff side and started his downward climb, the rocks under his hands feeling slightly slick in the dew of the mists that always seemed to surround Kirkwall. Keeping a firm grip, he pressed his foot into the surface below. His boot slid against the face, leaving his arms to support him as he grasped for traction. A careless blunder.

Pebbles skidded from beneath his heel, falling to shatter into dust, and he hissed, his right hand clawing against the rock face. His nails peeled back, blood dripping down to his wrist, as he grappled for a steady hold. Goliath's feet pressed against the rock, his hands digging grooves into the ledges, and huffed in exasperation. He shimmied across the surface, searching for an area that was more stable.

His bloodied right hand scraped across some sort of…rope? He jerked on the foliage, his eyes narrowing as he studied them. They certainly seemed thick enough to hold his weight… Goliath wrapped his hands in the broad leaved vines, slowly sliding down them. Insects slid and slipped over his arms, the crimson of his blood scraping across the smooth top side of the wide brimmed leaves.

Goliath slowly slid down, unable to see the base of the mountain, and growled. He heard a _crunch_, the vines in his hands tensing…

A~H

"_Mama!" He ran forward, embracing the leather armored woman in black, as she knelt down to hug him, and laughed."You came back!"_

"_I'll always come back for you, Goliath." Her black hair was catching the beginning rays of dawn, her twinkling blue eyes taking in his features. "I will never leave you. I will always be here for you."_

_She smiled, holding his hands before her, and then she leaned forward to kiss his forehead…right on his horn._

H~A

_Mother?... Where are you? Mother... _Goliath inhaled sharply as his silver eyes opened slowly, his head throbbing, and arm aching. His whole left flank seared in pain, his ribs were probably cracked or broken on the whole side. Goliath's legs even pounded with anguish, his right eye covered in a film of crimson.

He felt ill when he tried to stand, the world spinning as he stumbled to his feet. Now, now he was thankful that Kirkwall was surrounded in mist, a heavy draping fog that kept the light of day away. Goliath tumbled to his hands and knees, crawling down the sliding rocks. His mind couldn't grasp if he was on a ledge or not, so he simply laid down where he was. A sinking feeling filled him, his throat chapped with dry blood, and no doubt the sticky, dry feeling on his head was the same.

_Water…I must find… _He resumed his near futile crawl, chest hammering as his lungs bloomed in pain. He was amazed his chest hadn't caved in…

He tumbled in an instant, the world fading in and out of focus in a dizzying haze of grey, sand, and mud. His neck jerked painfully, the whole fall ending when he collided with the solid face of a boulder.

Goliath wheezed, laying his head back against the cool surface, and silently cursed. Cool, flowing… Water. He opened his eyes, willing the world to stop, and looked down. _Water_. He pulled his body over, practically face planting into the stream, he started to gulp the moment his lips touched the surface.

His throat opened immediately, embracing the revitalizing coolness whole-heartedly. Goliath forced himself to be slow, least he feel the rise of bile in his throat, and he did not wish to waste. He panted, laying his head in the cool brook, his whole form coming to rest on its belly in the water that was barely three inches deep. He thanked whatever deity or spirit was watching over him.

Perhaps it was his mother?

Goliath shuddered at the thought, the water sending grey lines all about his face, and the slight darkened shade of it sending a glow across his features. The lapping of the water over the bank made his eye lids droop, the birds calling and insects chirping, or clicking in the trees lulled him into a serene meditation.

"_Kirkwall…" His mother was sitting at the kitchen table, but not really at the same time. He stood in the doorway, the look in her eyes giving him pause, and what she had said… She'd spoken it like some sort of prayer, and the cool blue-grey of her irises had become distant. And although his mother was physically in the room, she was not really._

_Her heart, soul, everything about her except what was before him was gone; lost in some far away battle that he would never know of. Sword drawn, body alight with all the blistering fire that was battle, and her true nature. Her real soul was no long bound; it was blinding in its intensity, never distorted or unclear, and revitalizing in its sheer presence. This was his mother. In all her glory, strength at the ready to fend off any attacker. His mother, who stood up to giants, and dragons, and kings for the sake of those she wished to protect._

_And in that moment, he understood. He set his mouth in a line and stepped out of the kitchen, leaving his mother's heart to run through those battles. Through those fields, streets, and cavernous deeps… To free herself once more._

Goliath jerked upon awakening, cold, and shaken. He had drifted off during the noon and reawakened to find himself still in the brook, on the verge of drowning no less. He hissed as he forced his sore, straining muscles to pull him upright.

His left arm had a deep gash on it that was clogged with blood – thankfully not broken – and his ribs on the same side were at worst bruised, or slightly cracked. His legs had sustained cuts along the ankles, calves, but these too were clotted. Despite most of his injuries being closed and healing, he knew that with the slightest provocation they could reopen. And then where would be he?

His armor was torn, soiled, and stained with his blood. The stench of iron hit his nostrils, and he exhaled sharply to be rid of the overwhelming stench. His hair felt dry against his skull as well.

_I lost most of my blood from there. That is why I feel this way. My injuries are many, but not severe._

Kirkwall was only a few miles away, the immense wall within reach, but there was no way he could scale it in his condition. And going in by the water had more consequences than ever. Incoming boats, the vile water itself, and pirates were his greatest worry for traveling in that way. No doubt the mere stench would clog his nose, forgetting the very weight of the filth swarming in its murky depths, and being battered by boats…

Not to mention, the inside of the city wasn't much better. It was dangerous. Filled with cut throats, bandits, thieves, mercenaries, backstabbers…

_Worthless…_

Why had this city meant so much to his mother? There must be something worth fighting for inside! Something also, that could lead him to her location. He shivered. But his first priority was survival. If that stalled his imminent arrival, so be it. He would first have to tend his wounds, find some food, and then he would go.

But, then again…

He looked back the way he had come, out of this glade, up the mountain pass, and... Goliath shook his head and took in a heavy breath. There was no going back. Nothing could change his past, but he was in charge of his future. Destiny, fate. Lies. All of it. He would write his own fortune, his own present, and where he would venture. Not them.

He turned his sights on the city, thinking… There had to be a way.

"_Remember Goliath, as long as you have the will to do something great, to do what other's deem impossible, you will __**always **__find a way."_

"I will find a way." He murmured, the wind blasting his back, flourishing his dark hair, and seemed to be pushing him towards Kirkwall. He followed, suppressing the wince that threatened as he trekked to his destiny…

A~H

It had taken several hours, but after making his way to the wall, he'd found a groove, a long, crater like gash in the surface. It was stable enough for him to climb up, to a degree. The cracks in the wall were spread far, but he was sure his blade could make a few more of the necessary gaps. He pulled it from his back, repressing the hiss that accompanied the motion.

It was mainly solid black, the edges silver, and the end of it was separated into two. The place where the blade met again had a silver circle in the middle and a mark in the center of that. The blade ended where several downwards, arrows were going towards the hilt. In fact, it looked as if it were severed, because the markings suddenly stopped and there was a grey mark going through the blade. The lowest part, closest to the hilt was actually solid black, the stripes ending for some reason. He had questioned it at first, but mother had always said:

"_It's a gift from your father."_

"My only gift…" He whispered, scaling the wall. His muscles burned, the hammering returning to his temples as blood rushed, and he was sure at least several of his gashes had reopened. But, he did not stop. He could not stop.

Goliath near fainted half way up, the wind blasting his back, and he hissed as the sticky, warm, wet feeling of blood coated his lower legs. He didn't turn his head to look down, but pressed his face to the wall, and growled. _No turning back. __**Never**__ turn back._

He pressed on.

He gasped, panting heavily when he was near the top, and pulled himself up, and onto the flat surface. Goliath shuddered, fists tightly sealed, his right one holding his blade. The air felt tense and cold, blasting his left side, and bringing forth another hiss. The mists of Kirkwall were coming in, the evening dusk sending a splintered form of the city over the ocean. Setting his jaw with a gulp, he slowly slid to the other side of the wall, and caught himself on his sword. Now, to descend into Kirkwall, and this was by far trickier than coming up.

_I cannot risk a fall like the one I took in the mountains. I would be too far incapacitated._

The climb down was treacherous and slow, and with an already weak body… He was running out of time. His arms would give out at this rate. No, he'd have to keep moving.

A~H

"_Dreams are very powerful. Be careful where they take you, you never know where you might end up."_

Dreams; fickle, misleading visages that guised themselves as the norm, but were far more hazardous than any foe. They could rewrite ones thoughts and memories, lead astray even the most stalwart warriors, and leave you gasping for the truth. Beg for merciful reprieve from the lies that often accompanied dreams, and you would find nothing but despair and further torment. Goliath knew this, and lived by the simple creed of: Don't dream.

Meditation before rest was key to this feat. Visions, images, and memories could be altered in the world of illusion. Friends become foes, your worst inner truths – the lies you tell yourself in the waking world not hiding you here – only hindering your journey further. He could not afford to be miss lead. That was why, when he awakened… He knew not to stand. He knew not to face the man before him, if it was, indeed a man.

It was. Dressed in red armor. He was staggeringly tall, with bronze skin, and silver, golden flecked eyes. His chest was mostly bare except for the several belts that held his armor in place, from the kilt around his waist with the leggings underneath, to the pauldrons on his broad shoulders. His chest was covered in some odd red paint, the markings branching out over his skin to form an arrow-like symbol. But this was no ordinary man. He had horns. With golden bands around them, and three earrings through either ear, holding some odd golden band to the outside. The ridges of his face were hard, made by years of experience, and the coming of age. The odd, familiarity of him unsettled Goliath, sitting back in a dark alley, having just awakened from sleep.

Or perhaps he had fallen into slumber, despite mediation, and the raw visage before him was simply a figment of his imagination. He quickly shunned the idea. The man before him was no mere mirage. He was too detailed, too ornate to be anything but a real being. So why was he here? The man, creature, demon, beast, whatever he was turned… And started to walk away. It was on his armor that Goliath saw the insignia. A memory blazed, true and bright across his vision…

That symbol was very close to the one on his sword. The arrow that pointed up, with those lines, and even though the symbols were different. It was still somehow, eerily the same. The man stopped at the mouth of the alley, turning back to him, and crossed his arms.

He was waiting.

Goliath stood, trudging after him, and realized that this was indeed a dream. His wounds were gone, and he walked without limp, or pain. So, he followed, keeping his gate wide and open as he trailed behind the behemoth that resembled something he could not name. Someone he could not name.

They winded through many pathways, the cobblestone streets of Kirkwall passing by in a dull haze, but Goliath remembered the way. The barrels of ale that sat empty, the beggars that were silent and immobile, frozen in this place where nothing breathed. He could be falling into a trap, he could have been walking into some pit spawned layer where he would be torn apart, but in this world he felt no dread. But more like… This man made him unafraid. His stern glare and scowl, the way he walked with no fear, head held high, and strong backed. He was a man that could achieve what he set out to do. He would not waver in any task set before him. He was without fear. Better yet, he had conquered it.

Eventually, they rounded a corner, and he stopped. Goliath immediately did so as well, gazing at him. He turned, staring straight ahead, and his eyes slowly narrowed upon what was before him. Goliath approached his side gradually, turning his own gaze upon what his guide was so intently staring at. It was a large door, made of wood and iron, and bolted with chains. The man stepped forward, removing from his back a great war axe, and began to shatter the wall.

Goliath watched, brow furrowed as the man vented out some clearly deep rooted frustration on the barrier. When the gate had been cleared away by vicious strikes, he turned back to him, and beckoned him to go inside. He stepped forward, slipping inside with no hesitation, and was surprised to find a large courtyard on the other side.

Goliath turned back to his companion, who had also stepped through the gate, and was now intently watching him. He nodded, and stood his ground.

_A dream_. He reminded himself. _There is no sense speaking to that which is not there._ The questions he would ask were numerous. But he felt no need to waste his breath on something that was not there. On something that did not exist; was not here with him, to answer him. And he genuinely started to believe that, perhaps, yes… This was just a figment his mind had created for him out of loneliness.

_Perhaps it is my desperation for companionship? Yes, I require more meditation._ The man looked like him. The bronze skin and the… abnormalities that adorned his head.

Goliath's own were there… He reached back to touch his damaged left horn. That was right. He was bronze skinned, tall, with the same black hair as his mother. But those horns. His long ebony horns, except for the left one – half cut off by… Goliath growled, shunning the past.

But this man did not just look like him in that way. There was something about him, everything about him. His face, his build, and his eyes. They had the same silver eyes with those golden marks in them… Goliath thought to speak, but once again shunned the idea. It was time to awaken.

A~H

Goliath opened his eyes slowly, the early light of dawn filtering through the broken banisters, and falling buildings to splinter across the walls of the alley. He stared at nothing, body aching, and head throbbing slightly. Most of his wounds were sealed and healing, whilst some had to re-close after last night's escapade. He chuckled weakly, finding his rather pathetic situation amusing, but he was wasting time here. Precious time. Goliath stood, wincing slightly as his knee joints cracked from being cramped. He trudged out, into the light of dawn, and inhaled slowly.

Kirkwall was just as foul smelling as the rumors said it would be.

He tugged on a rather ratty, grey cloth banister that was hanging from a broken pole, and wrapped it around his head. If anyone asked, he could just say that the horns were part of his helm. _Humans are such fools; they are bound to believe it. _Goliath started his trek out, looking around at the buildings under reconstruction not some blocks away from where he had slept that evening. They were repairing parts of the city and remodeling others…

_One can only hope they will learn from their previous failures, and build something sturdier. _Goliath kept walking, past the beggars, and whining children that threw themselves at him for scraps. He merely stepped over them, and continued on. He didn't recognize it at first, but after a few moments he realized he was in the same area that the man in the dream had lead him to.

_What? _He turned his head sharply, finding the same barricaded entrance, and once more not a soul lingered. Déjà vu passed over him like a tidal wave. No one wandered through this area, no beggars clung to the shadows, and everything had stopped. He couldn't hear anything here, not the birds, or the ocean. But he could hear the incessant wave of a flag. Goliath lifted his head to see a chantry banner flying high over the blocked off area, and that it too was starting to fall. Something tugged at him, something he could not name. He did not believe in fate or destiny, and yet, there was some invisible force that refused to relinquish his will… Telling him to enter.

Goliath looked around, making sure that no one was coming, and walked up to the barrier. Instead of breaking it down with deep seated hatred, he scaled it, grabbing hold of one of the many chains over it, and climbed up. He dropped on the other side, rolling into the collision, and knelt. No one. Nothing. Goliath stood, looking around, and found it to be the same as the one from his dream. He walked further in, gazing at some odd, shredded, crimson banisters. The insignia on them had been worn away with time and they waved uselessly in the breeze.

Goliath kept going, and found himself in some… audience like chamber. There were steps leading up to an elaborately carved chair, covered in a red cloth that was as tattered as its brethren. He walked up and stared for a moment, before taking the seat himself. And immediately stood once more. Something felt… wrong about it. That was not his place. He growled and walked back down the stairs.

_I choose my place._

Goliath looked around for several hours, finding some tomes that he could not read, their scripts odd, and yet at the same time familiar.

_Mother had books written in script like this. I do not know what it was called though._

He looked back around at the odd place. There were no rooms or places to sleep, but the poles and bits of cloth around the area proved that at one time there had been tents about. But now, oddly enough, not a soul lived here. Not even thieves or beggars dared to take root in this place.

_Then I shall stay._

It was the only place he had, even if it was completely foreign to him, but… There was a sense of belonging here. And yet there was not. He did not belong here. But there was a lingering connection that bound him to this place and the ghosts of its inhabitants. Those that may have walked here at one time. Perhaps… The man from his dream… Was he real?

A specter, clear and true, seared across his vision. The man had returned, but this time in the waking world. He was sitting in that chair, staring down at him, looking through him. Goliath's brow furrowed, taken aback by the vision that was before him now. And he forgot himself.

"_Who are you?"_

But his voice was echoed, mirrored by one behind him.

"_I am the - ."_ But Goliath was turning. Who else had been here? With a voice he knew only as –

"Mother!"

H~A

Oh, that cliff. So, as you can see, yes… I rewrote it again. Goliath is the same but the way he enters Kirkwall is now completely different. Don't worry, the visions don't last forever. But Goliath is in the process of seeing the ghosts of the past. I sometimes like using the 'ghosts of the past' thing to connect the forgotten and present. And I couldn't resist using it here as well.

Note: Goliath's eyes are like the Arishok's. At first, his eyes were supposed to be blue-grey like Hawke's and his hair was supposed to be black like hers as well. I changed it because I wanted to show just how much he is like his father, but isn't at the same time. When the other characters see him, they see a younger, black haired version of our favorite Qunari warlord. But he does have his mother in him. His headstrong endurance should attest to that.

And before anyone asks! Yes, the Arishok is still part of the Qun, and alive. And before anyone points out that he lost his 'soul' (the sword Goliath has most of the blade part to), I would point out that the sword the Arishok uses in game and such is not actually his 'soul' weapon. (Plus, he still has the hilt original hilt of the blade and what was left of the blade.) His axe is. The sword he uses in game and such was also featured with Sten on the front of the comic: Those Who Speak. And the Bioware Developers said that the Qunari have only one weapon that counts as their soul (they may have changed it since last I read, but I'm going with what we were first told) and that means that the sword was not actually his soul weapon.

The sword as I'm going to take it is just something that every Arishok inherits from the last one, seeing as Sten has it in the comic now, along with Asala it seems on the front cover. So while he would be in deep shit if he lost his axe, or it broke, he is not as it was the sword. I don't think the Qun would be happy about it, but, still, it would be repairable.

I promise, I will upload the second chapter soon! And let me know how you guys feel about the story change! R&R!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – The Father's Soul

_The crisp summer air dashed over the village road, stirring dust, and dirt. The sun was in the middle of the sky, beating down on the workers, and villagers as they went about their ways. The dog wood in the middle of the town was surrounded by grass, and fenced in a stone circle. Around the landmark were the artisans and crafters; the blacksmith at his forge, the baker at his oven with the door to his shop open, letting the breeze in, the herbalist bustling about as she sorted herbs, and the chantry woman spouting her daily prayer to the masses._

_A young boy sat on the rock wall that fenced the blacksmith's forge, his head wrapped in a black scarf, despite the heat, and his bronze skin was contrasted by the short sleeved white shirt he wore, and grey pants. His feet were bare and calloused, hands much the same, and his silvery eyes watched the shimmer of the blooms in the dog wood._

"_Hand me tha' 'ammer boy, don't jus' sit there and stare at the scenery!" A voice yelled inside, "migh' as well make yerself useful instead of just sittin' there!"_

_The boy turned and hopped off the fence, walking around to enter the forge, and pick up the heavy hammer that rested against the wall. The forge was shadowed by a wooden roof that arched, and ended with a holed out middle, to let the smoke filter out. And that was where the smith remained, his back turned to the boy._

_He wore a thick apron with black leggings, his face baring a thick dark beard, and his head even thicker hair. He was a rather beefy man, with crystal, storm blue eyes, and tanned skin. He was sweating a thick layer, but his eyes remained on his work as he held out his hand expectantly._

"_Ya should be out playin'."_

"_I don't like to play." The boy said, watching as the man hammered something he couldn't see. "I would rather study, or help mother work." His arms were somewhat thick, especially around the biceps, and he was toughened to even the untrained eye._

_The man turned, his sapphire eyes training on the young man for only a few seconds, before he turned back to the forge. "Aye, ah suppose you feel tha' way. But somethin' tells me tha' yer mother would love ta see ya 'ave fun over helpin' her all the time." The young man said nothing as the smith pushed his work into a vat of water, watching the steam rise heavily to be vented out._

"… _Would you teach me how to work a forge?"_

_The man turned a sharp gaze on him. "An' why would ye wan' ta learn tha'?"_

"_It seems a useful skill for one to have." He replied, watching as the man pulled out the blade, and gazed at it. It was odd looking. It was big, strong, with strange designs on it, and separated by two prongs at the top. The smith jerked his head, indicating him to follow, and he did as the man sat in a nearby chair and held it out to him._

_The boy took it, brow furrowing under his scarf, and stared at it for a long moment before looking at the smith. He lifted an obsidian colored pipe, with an intricate made silver piece on it. He lit it and began to smoke, his azure gaze meeting pools of mercury._

"_Tha' is yers." He nodded to the blade._

_The boy held it in one hand, as it was meant to be handled. "… It… Is heavy." He did not mean physically. With one arm there was no doubt he could wield it for some time before tiring, such as its making, and the mastery of craftsmanship it had been forged with. No, he could feel the weight of what it meant. The symbolism he one day hoped to realize, as he stared at the re-forged blade, made now for him. It felt as if he were holding more than just a sword. He was holding the weight of responsibility, the strength, and power of someone else as well. Perhaps he would name that person some day as well?_

_The smith seemed to know what he implied, for his eyes sparked with something. "Aye. Know this, when ye carry tha' blade. Ye carry yer father's soul…"_

H~A

Goliath sat on the stone steps of the room, staring at the place he was sure his mother had been. His mother had been here. In this room. It must have been years ago, before he was born, but she had been here. His sword rested across his knees, one hand planted on the hilt, and the other on the blade; he mediated. He breathed in deeply, and then stood. He could linger here no longer.

_I must buy provisions, make a shelter, and think about my next move._

He cast his gaze up the stairs once more, right to the spot the man had been in, and his brow furrowed. _Who are you? _He shook his head and turned, leaving the area the same way he had come in. Goliath headed through Kirkwall, and found the market square easily enough. A few through him awkward glances, but he ignored them in favor of searching for what he would need.

"Are you selling canvas?"

"Sure am! How much do you need?"

He bought seven gold worth of canvas, bedding for thirty silver, seventy silver in bandages, two gold in herbs and antidotes, and five gold worth of things to take care of his blade. Three more gold was spent on food and water. He put it all into a pack he'd gotten for free from the cloth dealers, and scaled back into the 'home' he'd made.

He tore down the leftover banisters and sewed most of them together. He used the canvas and the banisters to make a tent, and then he set up his bed, laying his supplies out. He did so in the back of the area, close to a room that had been a bath at one time – more like a bath house. Clearly, it was made for many people, and Goliath was sure he could get it running again if he tried hard enough.

The tent was small, pushed against a wall, and overhanging out a little. There was enough room for his bed in the back, and his legs wouldn't be cramped, his provisions lay out in the corner before his pack. But it would keep the rain and wind out, and that was much better than what he'd had the last few weeks.

His wounds came next; he treated them and sewed most of the ones on his shoulders shut, bandaging the small cuts on his legs. He ate bread and a tough, dried meat; staring at the sky.

_Mother must have been in this city at one time… _As interested as he was in finding clues to his mother, he was also interested in the strange man. He seemed so… Out of place, in the figments Goliath had seen. Kirkwall did not suit him at all. But for some reason, he also seemed impossible. _All my life others have said that I was born of a demon. That is why I have horns. _Horns were the signs of a demon, but some people - adventurers mostly, or even assassins – had always just shrugged when they'd seen him, and moved on. Perhaps it was because they were so seasoned; maybe seeing half-breed demons was a norm for one after so long.

Once he had set up his tent he went into the other area to try getting the baths working. Some of the pipes were cracked, or busted open, and Goliath had to hammer some pieces into place. He spent many hours at his task, the sun beginning to sink below the horizon as he finished. He turned the spout. Success. Clean, cool water sprouted out in a gushing wave, filling half a basin before he decided to shut it off.

Goliath stripped off his clothes and sat inside, shuddering as he came in contact with the chilling water. He was thick skinned, but with the night air and temperature, he could not simply shrug it off. Nevertheless, he bathed, washing the grime and sweat off himself, even without soap it was refreshing. Once he was finished he started on his clothes. Soaking the blood out of them would take some time, but it would have to do.

Goliath returned to his tent, and lay down. He had every intention of meditating, but when he closed his eyes, he almost instantly drifted off…

H~A

There were no dreams this time. When he awakened at dawn he found himself relieved. He stood, stretching, and checked his wounds. After re-bandaging some of his injuries he stepped out of his tent and returned to the bathing area. He'd awakened during the night to lay his clothes out, and found only the leggings slightly damp. He sat down, stitching some of the torn holes around the leggings, tunic, and along the soles of his shoes. Once he was finished he left them to finish drying, and returned to his tent.

There was a task long overdue. His blade was in dire need of attention, and he would not have forestalled its care for anything in the world. He worked the dents out, the stone he used taking out all the minor and deep grooves out, till the blade was perfect once more. The sharpening came next, and he smiled when he could run his finger along the edge and received a cut. When caring for the blade he settled for nothing less than perfection. This was his soul… As well as his father's.

Mother had never spoken of father often. And when she did it seemed as if even mentioning him left some sort of bad taste in her mouth. It only seemed to confirm that he was not mortal. He'd always been stronger, faster, smarter – wiser than those around him. Mother took great pride in him, always told him that he was bound to do something great… But after so many years of the stares, the harsh whispers, and the distance; all he felt was shame. He was never ashamed to be her son, but of the pain of being what he was. Half-demon… It sounded more like: "Half-beast" to his ears after so long. Goliath knew, after so many years, that his mother regretted it. That she was weighed by the guilt of something he could not name. She did not regret him. She was pained by something else. He sighed, tightening the grip on his blade, and stared at it.

"_When you carry this blade, you carry you father's soul." _Goliath laid it across his lap, staring at the symbols, and markings that decorated the length of it.

_But it is my soul as well._

Goliath strapped his blade into its sheath, exiting his tent to fetch his now dry clothes, and dress. He packed his sword upon his back, pulling a black cowl around his face, and head to hide his appearance. _I will have to find jobs. A steady income to fund a home. _He would have to buy a place to live sooner or later. He could not stay in this place forever, let alone for months, even years if it came to that. He shuddered at the thought of staying in **Kirkwall** for longer than a month. He looked up, into the sky, and saw a bird circling over head as he slipped out of the area that he now called 'home'.

Goliath smirked at the sight of it, its form swooping through the air with all the freedom of the wind. _A hawk… Just like my mother._

A~H

Goliath walked up the steps to the Keep, its large towers, and bright windows looking pale in the light of the early morning. Reconstruction upon it had been swift and non-stop after the revolution between mages and templar many years ago, and he could see the final touches being made on a few of the last spires.

Goliath entered, stopping when he saw the mass of humans in the main room. There was an uproar going on, the humans yelling, and shouting as a woman stood at the head of the assembly. Her red hair was pulled back into a braid, tall, pale-skinned, and wearing heavy armor. The sword on her back was broad and large, but it in no way dwarfed her stature, it just seemed to add to her imposing stare.

"Be silent!" She roared over the crowd, and he stepped back, not wishing to draw attention to his sudden arrival. "The Qunari **have** returned to Kirkwall, yes, but I am assured that they are **not** staying! Their leader is coming to speak to the mayor this afternoon."

At mention of their 'leader' the people seemed to riot even louder, and the woman was still trying to restore order. Which, she did… Rather quickly when she drew her sword. "I said: _**Silence**_!" She boomed. And once again, the chorus of screams died to not even a murmur as some of them turned fearfully to one another. Clearly, she was someone to be revered. "I want you all to go back to your homes, shops, or whatever mangy **hole** you crawled out of! And don't any of you even **think** of attacking the Qunari when they disembark from their ships! We don't want to start a **war**, and we don't want a **massacre** on our hands! So leave this to us, do you understand?! Because I swear to Andraste I will **personally** take down anyone who even looks their way!" The men and women whispered to themselves as they quickly dispersed, heading out the large double doors, and Goliath stood in place.

The woman let out a heavy breath, and sheathed her sword. Goliath stepped out of the shadows as she started walking to the base of the stairs, putting himself between her and the door. "Who are – oh… Well met." She greeted, bowing her head, and taking in his appearance with a raised brow. "I don't believe I've seen you before."

"I arrived in Kirkwall two days ago." He answered shortly.

"Really? Because I sure didn't get a report of a tall, dark gentleman entering the city on my desk." She laughed and Goliath shifted his stance. "…Ah… It was a joke lad. I'm Aveline. What can I do you for?"

"I was looking for information on a woman named Beatrice Hawke." Aveline visibly stiffened, her green eyes narrowing.

"The Champion of Kirkwall? Why do you want to know about her?"

"Champion?" He asked in disbelief. "She was the Champion of this city?"

"Why, yes, I thought everyone knew of Beatrice Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall. She kept the Qunari from invading by returning their little book to them."

Goliath was surprised. His mother, a warrior – no, a **champion**? He nodded. "I was hoping to learn more about her legend. I did not know she was the Champion of Kirkwall."

Aveline sighed, shifting to her opposite foot. "I don't have time to regale you with all of Hawke's many adventures, but I can point you to someone who can. Go to the tavern: The Hanged Man… Ask for a Dwarf name Varric, he'll tell you everything." Just as she finished, the doors to the Keep flew open, and she staggered back. "Shit! They weren't supposed to be here for another hour. Leave, now, it best you not be here."

Goliath watched as she jogged out to greet whoever had entered, moving to the exit, and silently stuck to the shadows to slip out…

H~A

Finding the 'Hanged Man' was not difficult, in fact, it was downright easy compared to the rest of his journey. Goliath trudged through the slum filled streets, following the directions of a man he had stopped on the road, and kept mostly to the shadows. If what the woman had said was true, than this Dwarf – Varric – could be the key to finding his mother.

_And getting out of this city that much faster._

He loathed Kirkwall. Goliath was silently amazed that this pustule of a city had not yet been conquered, how it still stood firm amidst the world. How could anyone **allow** this to continue?

But, at the same time, a powerful bond had come over him as he'd come into the city. This had been his mother's home. She had protected this city as its Champion. There must have been something worth protecting in these walls.

Goliath stopped outside the inn, his silver eyes taking in the disgusting humans, and the women who cooed to him as he walked by. He let out a menacing growl when several of them reached, and scraped their clammy, grimy hands across his chest. He was suddenly glad that his abdomen was covered by his cloak.

Goliath stepped inside, the smoke filled air making him lift a hand to cover his nose, even through his mask. It smelled of smoke, stale ale, and piss… His face drew back, snarling, and he felt his hand tense into a fist. It was almost painful to breathe in this air. Goliath stepped further in though, taking in the scratched tables, the dim – smoke filled – lighting, and men around tables. They were smashing their glasses together, sloshing watered down rum into each other's cup as they drank heavily, laughing boisterously, and dealt out grime covered cards.

Goliath made his way to the bar, careful not to draw attention, and still some turned to look at him for his imposing stature. He gestured the keeper over upon reaching his destination. The woman bustled over, nodding to him, "what can I do you for?"

"I'm looking for Varric."

"And why," a voice drawled behind him, "would you be looking for me?" Goliath turned in an instant, a Dwarf standing behind him at the landing to a set of stairs. His blonde hair was streaked with grey, pulled into a tight pony tail. A thick duster covered his shoulders, a white shirt revealing thick hair on his chest, and a thrown over his shoulder. "I can say that when strangers like you come in, looking for me, I get a little worried!"

"I wish to know more about the Champion, Beatrice Hawke." Goliath rumbled, gazing down at the man. Varric seemed to consider him for a moment, before jerking his head to motion up the stairs.

"Follow me up, lad." The bowman walked up and Goliath followed with a flourish of his cloak at his heels. Varric opened a door at the end of the hallway once they'd reached the landing, letting the younger man enter first, and followed quickly inside. He shut the door.

The room was small, a table in the center of the room, with a fireplace on the back wall. Books covered the walls, with papers and half filled ink wells all over the place, and the table had a map on it. It looked old, most of it covered in black marks… Clearly, Varric had been searching for something and not found it. The door past this small room was no doubt his bedroom, and Goliath let out a low snort. He already had to practically duck his head in this room; there was no doubt that his **actual** room would be the same, if not worse.

"Now, why," he turned to Goliath, who was looking around his room still, "would a Qunari want to know about Hawke? Figured your kind knew enough already."

"Qunari?" Goliath turned back to him, tilting his head slightly. The woman, Aveline, had said something about them as well…

Varric's brow furrowed. "Yeah, Qunari… Big guys like you with horns."

_With… horns?!_

"You knew that these were not part of a helm?"

Varric made an incredulous face. "Aye. I'm not a fool. You're a Qunari."

"Explain…"

The Dwarf walked over, waving him aside, and pulled a book off a shelf. He put it on table and opened it. Inside was a picture of a tall creature with bronze skin, violet eyes, and… horns. Goliath's eyes widened as he took in the portrait, putting his hand on the surface. "This is… Not a demon?"

Varric now gazed at him curiously, brow furrowed. "No, it isn't. Have you really never seen one before?" Goliath shook his head, taking in every feature of the man on the page, and traced the ebony horns on his head.

The Dwarf slowly withdrew to lock the door and turned back to him. "Who are you… Exactly?" Goliath stopped, turning to look at him with his silver eyes.

"_Never show anyone your face Goliath. People will hurt you if they see you. Alright? Promise me!"_

"… Do you swear not to betray me?" His booming baritone had lowered to a whisper, silver eyes searching the brown of Varric's. Goliath would later chastise himself for sounding like a child, for wanting such trust from only a man he'd just met. But he felt he could trust him. There was something about him. Varric saw his change, reading him it seemed, and nodded, a grim, almost sad look engulfing his features.

He lifted his hand, forming half a smile though. "Scout's honor."

Goliath slowly released the cowl, revealing his sharp, chiseled features, and the beginnings of his ebony horns. His black hair fell around his shoulders, silver, amber flecked irises, taking in the widening of Varric's eyes. But it seemed as if the Dwarf wasn't seeing him. He breathed hard through his teeth, tensing, and Goliath almost thought he would have to defend himself. But no, Varric remained motionless as he relived something…

"You… Why, **why** do you want to know about Hawke?"

"She is my mother."

A~H

Note: Yes! That cliff! Don't you love me? XD I promise work on the third chapter has already started. I was going to have the Arishok make an appearance in the Keep, and Goliath see him – good shocker there! – but, that idea was scrapped since I don't think I can write the Arishok's personality very well so far. I'm working on it though!


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